Page 11 of Resisted

It was a lie, of course. Mom didn’t know I was planning to go to this party against her wishes. But I also doubted they would check in with her either. That required work, and as men, they put forth the bare minimum of action that was required for anything that wasn’t interesting to them.

Vincent just shook his head. “No. That’s not even a dress. That’s a T-shirt. Go change, baby.”

A growl bubbled up my throat. I hated when he called me baby. He knew it. But I also knew there was no use arguing with either of them. It was two against one, and I couldn’t win against Silas, not unless he let me. Which he rarely did because Silas loved to be right and Vincent loved to argue.

I stomped back to my room, making my anger known with each pounding step I took. I slammed the bedroom door, then stormed to the closet. I pulled out a pair of jeans and a shirt. I shimmed the jeans over my dress and pulled the shirt over the top. When my dress was covered, I swapped out the heels for black flats and then grabbed an empty tote. I would change the moment the boys were out of sight, but for now, this would have to do.

When I reemerged, both men glanced at me for a moment. Their eyes barely flickered over me before Silas said, “No. Go change.”

“What? It’s jeans and a T-shirt! You’re being ridiculous!”

“Well, baby, you should try to hide the dress under the shirt a little better. I thought this was just a birthday party.”

I glanced at my shoulder, the giant tote pulling down my shirt just enough to allow the tiniest peek of blue material to show by my chest. Shit. Of course they would zoom in on it, they noticed almost anything with their sharp vision. I didn’t see why it mattered so much. It was just a fucking dress.

Silas threw his head back onto the back of the couch. “Belladonna. You’re killing me. Physically. Mentally. You are killing me. Go change, or I’ll call Boyce and tell him you don’t need a ride.”

“I thought you were taking me.”

“Boyce has my truck.” He shrugged. “Plus, I don’t want to.”

Gee, I felt so prioritized, but whatever. Boyce is way easier to pull things over on, anyway. He was like a hyper puppy that eats a lot and occasionally needs scowling. “Fine.”

I stomped back to my room, slammed the door for the effect of it, then began digging through my drawers. I’d change, but only because I really wanted to go to this party. I guessed going in jeans was better than not going at all, though I wasn’t thrilled about it. It took me another thirty minutes to find a shirt that would suitably pass the boys’ inspection but still look hot.

When I appeared in the living room, all three were sitting on the couch. They glanced up in unison, but Silas was the one to speak. “Does Mom know you wear makeup?”

No. “Yes.” I rolled my eyes. “Who do you think bought it?”

“I’m going to have to talk to her,” he mumbled.

I looked toward Boyce. “Can we go? I’m already late.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “You never want to be early to a party.”

You don’t? “Why?”

“Showing up early shows you’re desperate for acceptance. If this isn’t your best friend’s event, everyone will think you’re overeager.”

I looked at the other two men. Silas just shrugged, while Vincent nodded and said, “He’s right.”

I didn’t want to seem eager or desperate, even though obviously, I was so desperate for acceptance, I would do almost anything. To be accepted by the most popular kid in school would literally be a dream—a dream I hoped to accomplish tonight. If we ever left the house. “I’m not overeager, but I was supposed to meet Lynette twenty minutes ago.”

“Whose party is this again?” Silas was looking suspicious.

I urged myself to think quickly, which only made my response incredibly slow. “Elizabeth’s.”

“Is that the bucktooth kid?” Vincent asked.

I rolled my eyes. “She’s got braces now.”

“Thank fuck for that.” He shook his head as he leaned back, crossing his arms.

“You’re sort of a jerk, Vincent.” It wasn’t much of an insult, I knew. But it wasn’t like I could actually get away with calling him an asshole, though we both knew he was one.

“Baby, I’ve been called so much worse.” I didn’t doubt he had.

I stomped my foot. “Boyce, are we going?”